


Beauty and the Grump

by ChibiWitch



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1800s, Arthur - Freeform, Arthur Kirkland - Freeform, FrUK, Francis Bonnefoy - Freeform, Hetalia, M/M, POV Arthur, Regency, francis - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-10-05 03:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiWitch/pseuds/ChibiWitch
Summary: Basically Arthur wants some cock but it's the 1800s and he knows he will be hanged for it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Be gentle with me, it's my first time.

There are funny things one recalls when searching the endless threads of memory in the mind. Peculiar details that, if able to view it, most people would consider insignificant. I would usually think the same. Except I knew better. Fragments of information act as cues: kickstarting the best of memories and forming them like dreams before the eyes. Starting with detail, gradually spreading like ink upon yellowing parchment. Similar to the drops of scotch that now littered the floor, as I scribbled out possibly the hundredth draft of a letter. I was used to writing at early hours. For a man of business, and an upper-class gentleman no less, it was imperative to organise my work with my other correspondents. It was a chore. As I copied out my final draft, growing weary from work (and possibly the drink by now), my mind wandered. I started reminiscing about that particular Saturday afternoon. Like most Saturday afternoons, it started with a gentle ride through the country.

01/04/1820

A brisk breeze brushed the stretch of grass leading to the stables. It was pleasant for a change; a much-anticipated shift into warmer spring weather at last. Most unusually for England, I was greeted with an almost cloudless sky as I trudged through the drying mud, eager to journey out into the vast green, bordered by forests barely anyone dared enter. I didn’t fear the forest. It seemed to me that there was no real reason to. As a boy, I had stumbled amongst its many gnarled roots and leaf laden tracks with little concern, often returning home with scraped knees and elbows. Now, as a man, I happily delved into its viridescent depths, just as I had done years before. The woods had always been my escape. From my ludicrous relatives to my endless paperwork.   
Lessons and lectures bored me. The only lessons I looked forward to were my horse riding lessons: at least these promised times out in the open air. During such lessons, Monty had become my closest companion. Where my siblings had failed to gain my interest (or my attention, which was scarcely given to anybody) this gentle natured stallion had succeeded. We shared an incredible bond, so much so that as I trod down to his stable door, I could feel myself being drawn to it, as if being beckoned by the beast itself. I greeted him as always by delicately stroking his nose, only stopping briefly to stare into those intense, beetle-black eyes. He nudged his nose against my palm, a hint for nourishment before setting off. Instinctively, I pulled an apple from my jacket pocket, which vanished within mere seconds. If Monty had any faults, it was his greedy eating habits. Annoying as it usually was, I was glad this once for this fault: I couldn’t wait a moment longer. Securing my foot into one of the stirrup irons, I swung myself onto the saddle, adjusted myself and tugged on the reins. Monty immediately kicked into action. Under the lightly clouded sky I rode to the field’s edge and both Monty and I disappeared amongst the trees.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's horse is scared of birds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so as much as it may sound like Arthur has something sexual going on with his horse, I promise you he does not! He's just very lonely...
> 
> Anyway, sorry but these chapters are going to be quite short. I break my writing up into small chunks so I apologise if it looks a little irregular at times.
> 
> Enjoy!

Streams circled the ancient arboreal landscape like glistening ribbons, twisting and turning in every direction imaginable. We crossed the shallow water. Galloping through the glittering river, we finally managed to cross deeper into the woods. My eyes scanned the tops of the trees: the mighty guardians that stood sentinel over all. All life respected these ancient beings. I’m thankful to admit that this included both me and my companion. We seemed locked in a reverie in each one’s peaceful presence. A watercolour sky was above us, stretching further than the tallest oak, splashed with hues of pinks and blues. 

A shock of white shot past our heads and into the trees. Almost immediately Monty was startled and began to snort, head raised, staring ahead. I could feel a small tremble through his body, ears fixed forward. I loosened my grip on his reins, keeping hold only with my right hand. Gently, so as not to startle him further, I stroked his mane with my left hand.

“Hey. Everything’s alright boy, don’t be frightened. We’re alright.” I said soothingly.

He snorted louder than at first and started to inch more hesitantly forward.

“We’re alright boy. We’re alright.” 

I continued to pat and stroke his neck, but something was pulling my mind to other matters. It seemed like the thing that had swept past was a bird, but I had never seen a bird so white in this forest. Not before now at least. My curiosity gripped me, and although it was best not to investigate too closely with such a nervous horse, I couldn’t help but lead him in the direction of the bird’s flight path. I had to continue looking unperturbed by this sudden appearance after all, so as not to instil more fear in my horse.  
Avoiding tugging on the reins, I delicately guided Monty down winding tracks, the white bird occasionally popping into view.

It was a pure white, as white as undisturbed snow, warbling as it fluttered ahead. My horse still slowed in the presence of this innocent creature, but it seemed, to my great relief that my attempts at reassurance had had some effect.

Finally, after a slow stroll ever deeper into the woods we stopped. The white bird seated itself upon a raspberry bush. It was joined by a mate. Equally as beautiful, white plumage to match, they seemed to brush beaks. Monty gained a little more confidence now, edging a little bit closer, although his heart still pounded as I climbed off of the saddle.   
I couldn’t help but stare, utterly transfixed: it was breath-taking. They seemed the perfect pair. Doves. Said to mate for life, staying until the very final breath. I wondered in that moment, as I watched the two of them, whether this was what humans experienced. When a man meets his true love, does he feel drawn to them for life? Would I ever experience this? Although I was still young in years, most men I knew had already married. Was I going to remain uncoupled? Perhaps animals were the only company I had been fated to have. I could lie to others, disguise my crippling fear of loneliness, but I couldn’t lie to myself.

Noticing the sky beginning to douse itself in an inky blue, I tore my eyes away from the doves and led Monty away through the way we came, back to the entrance of the forest.


	3. Chapter 3

Mother was going to kill me. 

Unfortunately, that was to be expected, having stayed out so late. What wasn’t to be expected was the man that was parading towards the manor. From where I stood, he somewhat resembled some sort of peacock. With each confident stride down the trodden path towards my home he seemed to show off his feathers: he stood reasonably tall, back straight as an arrow, head tilted ever so slightly skywards to admire the manor ahead. Golden locks of hair fell to his shoulders, individual strands rising in the breeze before resting on the neck of what looked like a uniform. Possibly military, judging by the way he carried himself, but it was impossible to know for certain from such a viewpoint. 

Handsome intruder though he was, he was still trespassing. Mother never mentioned any plans for a guest.

As Monty was fatigued from our adventure in the woods, I didn’t want to force him into carrying me anymore tonight: despite the short distance for a horse, I knew my limits. Treading through the cool grass, my stead following me like a loyal pup, I headed towards the intruder. 

At last, I approached.

“Excuse me sir, I hate to be so rude, but where do you think you’re go—“

The stranger turned his face to me with a great deal of tranquillity. What a stunning face it was. The rant I had so perfectly constructed in my mind seemed to melt away like chocolate left out on a summer’s day. He was a painting; crafted by the finest hand. Not a single detail was neglected, from his bold brow and dazzling blue eyes to his rosy lips. He was almost annoyingly perfect. He may as well have told me he was going to rescue me from my towered prison and whisk me away on horseback. Typical pretty boy.

I could feel myself staring. Quick! Get your mind out of a storybook and back into reality!

“I’m going to the Kirkland Estate” He said coolly, eyes bearing into mine almost painfully.

“Oh, and I suppose you thought you could go swanning onto the Estate without permission?”

“Such rudeness. Is this how you treat your guests?”

I looked him up and down, eyeing him suspiciously.

He simply rolled his eyes.

“I clearly have permission.”

Clearly. I could feel my cheeks getting hotter. God sometimes I could be such an arse. 

“Oh…Right! How silly of me. Allow me to escort you to the door. I apologise, we’ll have to stop by the stables first…”

“This is your horse?” He said, glancing at the creature beside me.

“Yes. I’d let you pet him but he’s a wee bit tired… sorry I didn’t catch your name?”

“You never asked for it.”

“Ah. Ever so sorry.”

He smiled, “Francis Bonnefoy. And don’t worry, I already know yours.” He gave a little wink and held out a lightly sun-kissed hand. I looked at the state of my own hands, caked with mud. I haphazardly rubbed them on my clothes before taking his outstretched hand with a firm grip.

“Right. Come with me Mister Bonnefoy, and be warned: my mother has a rather hot temper…”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene and the next scene are a bit... messy... sorry owo

We hastened to return to the manor and though Mister Bonnefoy may have arrived on time, I knew I was hours late.

Francis kept mainly to himself. We spoke very little, from the stables to the elaborate doors where as usual I was greeted by the servants. He bowed to each with a mimic of a smile. It’s amazing how some people possess the ability to be in a constant performance for everyone, never catching their audience off guard. Shame this man had a more competent member sitting in the crowd… one who was used to such facades. 

Mother was waiting, with an equal mask of contentment. That was much easier to determine to be fake. She was furious. 

“Mother. This is Mister Bonnefoy, I do believe he is accepting your invitation to dinner?”

Francis brought my mother’s hand to his lips and gave it a soft kiss.

“Enchanté Madame.”

“You’ve grown remarkably since our last meeting Francis.”

“I’m glad you think so.” 

My eyes flicked from my mother to our guest. How long had they known each other? In what circumstances? Surely not from business, that was always carried out by either myself or the other men in the family. So, had they met at another occasion? That was ludicrous, my mother rarely left the house. 

“Quit pulling that strange face...” she said, “and why ON EARTH were you so late Arthur?! Explain yourself!”

“I… er… the horse Mother… er… time just sort of… slipped away... I suppose…?”

Stony faced, she pinched my ear hard between her forefinger and thumb.

“Ow! Mother!?”

“Francis darling, would you follow me to the dining hall, we’ve been waiting most patiently…”

“Of course, Madame.”

With that, Mother led the way into the dining hall, dragging me along behind her by the ear. Francis followed quietly once more. This time there was no performance: that aggravating smirk was genuine...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves...

“Mother, what’s this?”

“I had it made especially for our guest. A starter of French onion soup, followed by beef _bourguignon_. I’m told the dessert is a surprise, but knowing French cuisine I’m sure it will be most enjoyable…”

She flashed a grin to the man now seated opposite me at the long dining table.

“Must we really be forced to eat this fancy nonsense?”

“Don’t be such a child Arthur! You know how important it is to make a good impression for our guest!”

I sulked. Francis once again wore his annoying smirk.

“Ah,” he spoke at last, “so the spoilt prince emerges…”

“Shut it frog!”

“ARTHUR!” My mother yelled, “EAT THE FOOD AND SHUT UP!”

Fixing her with the most poisonous glare I could muster, I snatched the spoon off of the table and began to silently eat.

It wasn’t to my taste at all.

Silence followed our little outburst but like all good things, it didn’t last long.

“Where are your other fine sons Madame?” Francis asked.

“Followed in their father’s footsteps I’m afraid…” She grinned weakly and sipped at her wine.

“ _Désolé_.”

“At least I know I haven’t been abandoned by everyone just yet.” She glanced over to me, “Men are ambitious, it was only a matter of time before everyone left.”

I elected to focus on the servants that were clearing the table for our main course. The subject of my father was always a little sore. Swift and silent, they moved like spies, unnoticed but always listening in. I could tell. It annoyed me immensely, but what would a house be without its servants?

“Is your mother well?” She asked.

“Oh _oui_. Quite well.”

“We used to be firm friends the four of us.”

She winked.

"The four of us?” I echoed.

“You’re really quite clueless aren’t you _mon ami_?” Francis said.

‘Mon ami’ I mimed. What did he mean? I’d never met him before, I was certain I would remember otherwise. Maybe it meant something else, my French was pretty weak after all…

Before I had the chance to retort, my mother wormed her way back into the conversation: “It’s remarkable Francis, even as a man you have the beauty of your dear mother.”

“Personally, I find beautiful people to be boring…” I said, holding my own glass to my lips.

“How so Arthur?” Francis said.

Damn that smirk!

“Well, beautiful people are usually only skin deep, aren’t they? Let’s be perfectly honest. They lack kindness, selflessness, most qualities admired in average people unlike those titled ‘beautiful’.”

“How odd.”

“What? Not used to people not instantly falling for your charm? I know, must be quite a shock.”

“No. It’s odd how you’re ugly and still you lack kindness and selflessness.”

Fury stole my actions and forced me to stand, my chair scraping violently against the polished floor.

“What are you trying to say? Out with it!”

“Your temper is awful! You act like a beast—”

“A beast? Look who’s talking, aren’t the French commonly the beasts according to literature?”

“Oh, you’re right! If we’re going by literature, I’d rather be the Beast, then unlike you, I would have compassion under all of that ugly exterior!”

“I lack compassion? You know nothing about me Mister Bonnefoy!”

A red mist was starting to descend as I balled my fists. How dare he insult me! How dare he accuse!

“If you weren’t so stupid you’d realise I used to know you very well! I knew your father was a bit of a brute but I never expected you to—”

“DON’T YOU DARE COMPARE ME TO THAT TRAITOR!”

A glass shattered. My mind was elsewhere but my hand remained in reality, glistening with fresh blood.

“Madame, I won’t be staying after all. Many thanks for the meal.”

And with that, he threw his napkin on the table and departed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this entire fic is a blur to me now so I'm so sorry if nothing makes sense

By morning, the memory of the previous night was as fresh on my mind as the wounds on my hand. I was woken up by its painful sting, and grounded by the weight in my chest. Great. I’d gone and lost my temper again. And what was worse, I was now left with a rather infuriating conundrum: why did that man seem so oddly familiar?

He had spoken to me with all the pretence of having met before but no matter how hard I thought, I remembered no former introduction. It was most troubling. Why couldn’t I remember? Perhaps my mother would know but after last night… there was little point in asking her.

I decided to send a signal down to the maids before cocooning myself in my sheets, avoiding the inevitable. A nice cup of tea should do the trick.

Bundled in blankets I waited for the gentle tip-tap of the maid’s shoes approaching my door. The longer I was alone, the slower time seemed to trickle past in my lament. I could really use that tea…

Then, a sharp knock.

“Rosemary? If you could just leave it by the door, I will collect it momentarily….”

There was no verbal response, just the ominous creak of my bedroom door. 

“I’m indecent at the moment, could you please just leave it by the door?”

Instead of the delicate footsteps of Rosemary, I recognised the powerful footfalls of my mother as she strode into the room, hands occupied with a silver tea tray. She nudged the door shut behind her with a heeled foot.

“Oh. It’s you.” I said, buried in my bedding.

“Arthur Kirkland, stop hiding please.”

Cautiously I poked my head out from the cocoon and gave my mother an injured stare. I was waiting for her stern words of disappointment at my behaviour, maybe even a firm slap on the wrist. Nothing like this seemed to arrive however. I took it upon myself to initiate the conversation:

“I’m so sorry…”

Then having concluded this would be all I could manage, I hid once again entombed in my sheets.

I felt a gentle squeeze around my middle.

“If only you would stop acting like such a hot-headed fool...” She said, her words coated in honey glaze.

My sarcastic laughter came out muffled, but my mother’s voice rang as clear as a bell:

“Have your tea dear, before it gets cold.”

Obediently, I took a sip. What a relief! She didn’t hate me after all!

“Now let me take a look at that hand.”

Gingerly, I slipped my injured hand from the covers, anticipating my mother’s inspection of it.

“Christ Arthur! You haven’t rampaged this bad since Allistor told you fairies aren’t real.”

“Fairies are real mother.”

“I know dear.”

There was a brief silence. Then, as it had been troubling me for some time, I spoke:

“Why does Francis seem to know who I am?”

She fixed me with a puzzled expression.

“I never thought you would have to ask that to be frank…”

I stared into those stern, green eyes I had inherited so unwillingly. Waiting.

“Back when Lady Bonnefoy lived here you two were inseparable.”

“They lived here? In England?”

“Astonishing really, how life muddles things…”

“Quite.”

I fixed her with another quizzical look.

“When you say we were close—”

“You did everything together.”

Astonished, I attempted to soak in the new information given to me. I had to think awfully hard. Think! Remember! Straining as I did, an image emerged: a little angel-faced boy covered in wildflowers on the very field just outside of this bedroom window.

“I… all those years I thought perhaps—”

“You didn’t imagine him. When he left, you were cold for days. Wouldn’t speak. Wouldn’t eat. The maids told me when they came to wake you for your daily tutoring, you often hadn’t slept. Such a shame. I don’t think I ever got that happy little boy back…”

I sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

She simply embraced me again.

“You have an invitation on the table. Perhaps a chance to redeem yourself?”

And with that she left.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Women can be arseholes too.

He nervously sipped his champagne as I stepped towards him.

“Ah! Arthur! What a… surprise!”

I fixed my stare upon the lavish laminate. Was I ready for this? I felt guilty but… to apologise so publicly? Surely not possible. It certainly didn’t feel right.  
Clearly without any thought, I reached out my stiff, bandaged hand to shake.

Francis let out a chuckle.

“Easy to forget our injuries, huh?”

“I—I can be quite a fool sometimes. I don’t know how to apologise. I was most… improper.”

“Let’s start again.” He suggested.

  
This time his eyes seemed to show the same happiness as his smile: a twinkle that made my heart flutter slightly. God knows why. Perhaps nostalgia towards a smiling child I once knew so well, yet had immediately forgotten.

I took his hand in my own.

“Yes. Let’s start again.”

And so, the evening unfolded before us, all hostility replaced by hospitality. The guests scurried in quicker than I could have registered: chattering, chirping, cantering.   
For a brief moment, as mother wandered off I became quite unaccompanied. For a young man of high status to have not attracted any attention from the women was, to say the least, a tad troubling. So, I stood.

Although I wasn’t totally alone.

Francis seemed to be the centre of attention, and rightfully so, given that he was this evening’s host. He was particularly popular with the women.

One young blonde, being chaperoned by an older brother, expressed her deepest thanks for her invitation, to which she received a kiss on the hand. Each woman with whom Francis greeted received a kiss and a message of thanks for visiting him at such short notice. A comment about Parisian style here, a compliment about incomparable beauty there. He looked as if he was enjoying himself. 

“It seems someone likes what they see.”

With a grin, I pointed out the coy brunette standing at the far end of the hall. Cheeks dusted with rouge, she whispered frantically with her companion, desperately trying to make eye contact with Francis.

“Oh? So, it seems…”

He let out a laboured sigh before downing another bubbling glass of champagne. 

“Are you not going to lend her your company?”

“I’m with you right now. Why?”

I raised a brow.

“She has a friend. We could both go?”

Yet another sigh escaped him. Hastily he ran his hand through his feathery hair and dragged me by the arm to the two ladies at the opposing end of the hall.

“Bonsoir.”

Bending slightly, he bestowed a couple of kisses on each lady’s cheek. This transformed the brunette so that her entire visage was flushed scarlet, rather than just her cheeks. The other woman frantically wafted her fan.

“I’ve been ever so excited to meet you Mr. Bonefoyer!”

“Bonnefoy.” He corrected.

“She’s been waiting for the opportunity to invite you to a dinner at her nearby manor. If it’s not too much trouble of course.” Her friend explained.

“Well—”

“Of course, you’ll say yes! Such a social gentleman as yourself!”

“Bring your friend if you must.”

“Ladies—!”

His eyes seemed to beg me for help. How could I refuse such an innocent look from an old friend?

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

I reached my hand out, although it was evidently a grave mistake. The brunette looked at it with particular disgust. 

“Does it matter? I’m trying to invite Mr. Bonefoyer to a gathering! I have no interest in _you!_ ”

“Quite.” Her friend agreed, scrutinising my appearance. My heart sank. I knew I wasn’t exactly a prince charming but…

“Excuse me ladies, but I refuse to go to a gathering where my dear friend will not be welcome…”

“Oh! Well if that’s what you want! Of course, he’s invited! Of course!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him slip his hands into his pockets, sighing once again.

“Hmm. No. I think I will decline. You’re quite rude.”

Upon this brutal rejection, her face changed hue from scarlet to puce.

“How dare you! Do you even know what family I belong to!?”

“Goodnight Mademoiselle. The door is over there.”

And with that, he gave a last bow and fled to the opposite corner of the hall, me at his side.

“I’m so sorry Francis, I do believe I’ve ruined things for you…”

As if struck by a bullet, I felt Francis hug me. He said but one thing more to me that night:

“I’m glad you came.”


	8. Chapter 8

As last night has been such a disastrous event, I took it upon myself to invite Francis to what I hoped would be a more pleasant endeavour. Strolling down his stony path, I thought of how to place my words in order to avoid being rude, but every attempt seemed almost too formal instead. Upon reaching the fancy entrance, I discarded all rehearsed invitations, in hopes that a natural approach would be better suited. I knocked twice, and firmly. Almost immediately after, a servant arrived:

“May I be of assistance Mr—?”

“Kirkland.”

“You wish to speak with the master of this house?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much—”

“I’m ever so sorry, but I do believe you have arrived at an inconvenient time Mr—?”

“Kirkland!” I hissed.

“Who is at the door Percy?”

Percy turned to speak to whomever had spoken within the house.

“A Mr. Kirkland sir, I told him you were occupied.”

“What? Don’t be silly! Let him in!”

“But earlier—”

“Bah! Earlier was earlier!”

I recognised that nasal voice. A grin cracked across my face as he made an appearance in the doorway.

“Mr Bonnefoy.” I greeted.

“Monsieur Kirkland. And what makes you grace my doorstep?”

“See, I wondered well if… perhaps…”

I scratched the wild tufts of hair at the back of my head, desperately trying to remember my plan, any of my rehearsals. Then I remembered: I was supposed to act natural.

“Fancy joining me on a hunt frog?”

Bollocks. Too rude! His eyed narrowed.

“You’re inviting me on a hunt?”

I shrugged.

“If it’s such a problem I’ll just go alone!”

“Fine I accept! Such a princess…”

“Pff!” I grabbed him by the wrist, “come on, I suppose I’ll have to get you a horse now: I noticed your house lacks stables…”

And, although it happened in a way I can’t have possibly imagined (mostly because I had convinced myself he would refuse), we were at the stables, preparing for a morning hunt. As we were both mounting our horses and setting off for the forest ahead at a canter, Francis spoke:

“Arthur, I want to challenge you: first man to catch a stag wins!”

“A stag? You don’t know who you’re messing with do you? 20 shillings says I catch the stag.”

“Oh? Only 20? I thought you were more interesting monsieur…”

“50.”

“Deal. Let the chase begin!”

And he galloped into the forest’s entrance, leaving me in his wake. Fool. Charging in noisily like that will frighten all the deer…

Patting Monty’s neck gently, I trotted into the forest after Francis, gun at the ready for if I happened upon the stag. I was under the impression I would be at the advantage in this game but it seemed, knowledge or not, there was not a single deer to be found, stag nor doe. Frustrated, I roamed in circles near the forest path. It was hopeless. We had been in the woods for hours without even a hint of any stag. Francis must be getting bored by now, I know I was. Having not seen Francis for a little while, I decided to set a few snares before returning to the path to check for any signs of him. Nothing. After a short time, I went to check on the furthest snare. A small rabbit, but a triumph nonetheless. Whilst I worked the creature free from its trap I noticed something else. Why not? Having collected my spoils from the second snare I wandered to the path to find a tousle haired Francis.

“Hey, I found some lilies. You like those right?”

Francis opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. Clearly words had failed him. He tried again.

“How did you know?”

I passed him the bunch I had picked and smiled. I didn’t know what to say, even I didn’t know how I forgot so much but somehow remembered this detail about him.

“No stag then?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Probably cos you frightened the deer away…”

“I frightened it? Nonsense!”

I reached forward and plucked a twig from a tangle of hair.

“Look at you…”

Noticing how much of a mess he looked, I tried to brush dust off of his jacket and fix yet more strands.

“I need to bathe…”

“We can return if you’d like? I caught a couple of rabbits for a stew.”

“Why leave when there’s water here?”

I looked him up and down.

“The river?”

Already shedding his jacket, removing his boots and rolling up his trousers, he stepped into the shallow waters. Stunned by his lack of concern, I stood and watched. He continued to strip layers off, casting clothes into the shade. Within a few moments he was only in his underclothes and honestly, I didn’t know where to look.

“Do you have no modesty?”

“Well, you’re the only person who comes in here and we’re both men. I see no reason to be modest.”

“Right…”

I fixed my gaze to a nearby tree, trying to distract myself with its many grooves and knots.

“Join me! The water’s beautiful!” His voice once again dragged my focus back to his boyish face.

“No! I couldn’t possibly! Don’t be absurd!”

“It’s hot today, and we’ve been out for hours. A dip in the river won’t hurt anyone Arthur.”

I chewed my lip. It was unusually hot for the middle of spring…

“Fine.”

And with that I began working the buttons of my jacket. After kicking off my boots and baring the slightest skin on my legs, I stepped into the water. It was refreshing: to be able to cool off so easily made a pleasant change from my usual treks into the woods. I could feel the smoothness of each pebble beneath my feet.

“You’re not bathing?”

“Of course, I’m not bloody bathing! I’m not stripping off any more!” I wrapped my arms around myself: I already felt incredibly exposed.

“That’s no good…” Without any warning, my shirt was becoming speckled with droplets of water. He was attacking me! How indecent!

“Oi! You arrogant twat! You’ll see how a real man deals with such villainy!”

“Oh _vraiment mon cher? Viens-ici!_ ”

And so, the battle begun. Splashing and thrashing limbs, rapidly inundating our clothes. Both of our determined faces glistened.

“I’ll teach you not to mess with me cretin!” I yelled.

“Oh no! I’m soaked with water, my plans to bathe have been ruined!”

As I went on the offensive, Francis lit up the forest with his charming smile and playful laughter. It was like battling with a sun king, how his happiness radiated. Was this what it was to be friends with somebody? To enjoy each other’s company so, whether disagreeing or not? I shook it from my thoughts and went to launch another deadly attack, but instead everything went wrong. I felt my foot slide on the slick stones beneath me.

My pulse raced.

My balance faltered.

My arms flailed in an attempt to stabilise myself. But I didn’t fall. Francis grasped my arm with both of his hands. With a tight grip, he pulled me upright once again. Having anticipated the worst, I had my eyes squeezed shut against my demise, but they snapped open.

“Are you ok?”

I simply watched him look me over and nodded. I was fine, if not a little caught off guard. It took me a mere moment to realise how much more awkward this situation was: he was so close, fingers still locked around my wrist, sea blue eyes digging into mine, our drenched clothes sticking to every part of our bodies. The way our shirts clung to our chests left little to the imagination. It was obvious the cold was starting to affect him. I didn’t dare look any further. Gently I removed his hand and retrieved his jacket and other clothes from the river bank.

“Here. You’ll catch your death.”

We both struggled dry clothes over wet and got back onto our horses, him holding onto his precious floral cargo with one hand. It was about time to go home. Maybe I could ask for the cooks to prepare my rabbits for dinner sometime when I got home?

“So I was thinking—”

“Did you want to have dinner at mine next week?”

How did he know?

“Why not?”


	9. Chapter 9

The following week had approached finally, and in the gap between our previous meeting and this one, my mother had filled me with stories of my childhood I was unlikely to forget for a second time. My mind had buzzed endlessly with questions for my old friend, the warmth in realising I wasn’t dreaming the memories of squabbles and games played out with happiness in my infancy.

Back at Bonnefoy’s manor, there were no cooks in the kitchen. I was most surprised to find that when it was time for dinner, the chef was none other than my dear friend. Hesitant, I handed over the rabbit I had kept and settled myself over at the table in the corner. The sky was coming over a little grey, but it was nothing to be concerned about. As Francis happened to have a pack of cards handy, I busied myself with the lonely man’s game. In the meantime, Francis put himself to work.

“I was thinking about something…” He said.

Chop.

“Oh?”

Chop.

“It was about when we were children…”

He paused with the knife, glanced up from his work as if awaiting a reply before continuing. I was a little surprised I hadn’t been the only one buried in the past.

“You once got lost in that forest for hours.”

“I did?”

Chop.

“Ouais. Everyone was worried sick.”

He finally put down his knife and instead rummaged in the cupboards.

“Tell me more.”

It was a demand, not a request. I was eager for him to continue, eager to know more about this fascinating stranger who I had been so close to before. I wanted to know what he knew, to remember those precious moments of my childhood like he did. Hopefully we could pick up where we had left off.

“I was the one who found you of course. Although Lady Kirkland sent your brothers first.”

“Why did she bother? They wouldn’t have cared…”

“Nonsense! Such lies come out of you Mr Kirkland!”

I moved a queen of hearts to accompany her king with a violent snap against the wood. 

“Allistor was frantic! He tripped and twisted his ankle trying to find you!”

I remained silent, sulking, moving my cards when appropriate. It seemed so odd that he was so defensive of my brother… in my mind he had never done me any good.

“Anyway, when I found you, it was far off of the path. You were crying… I remember holding you close to calm you down.”

Whatever he has been doing with his cooking before now he paused yet again.

“I think I remember now… you carried me back, right?” I said.

He turned to face me suddenly. Those eyes again, so full of emotion. They paralysed me mid-move. I held his gaze for a while before breaking away to finish my game. I felt a jolt in my chest. Why was looking directly at him getting harder?

“My mind is so foggy… what happened after?” I asked.

“I left.”

He attempted a grin but it didn’t work. Not this time. He returned to his cooking, silently stirring.

“Argh!”

Immediately I sprung to my feet.

“What? Are you ok!?”

“Putain…” 

He seemed to be staring at his hands. When I rushed over, it was obvious why: a small red welt was appearing on one of his fingers. Carefully, I took his hand and inspected the burn closely.

“Nasty burn… I thought you said you were good at cooking?”

“I am! I haven’t done that in years!” He snapped.

I grinned and continued investigating his wound.

“If you have some plants or herbs I could make something for it?”

And so, I was rummaging around gathering herbs, oils and plants: mixing up medicines with skill equal to any doctor. My mother always preferred natural remedies; I don’t think I’d ever seen a ‘real’ doctor. Each malady was healed with her magic.

When it was done, I applied the mixture (which now resembled a thick oil). The whole time I cared for him, I couldn’t get that ridiculous grin off of my face.

“I feel like your mother…”

“Ha! If you were my mother you would have summoned a real doctor long ago!”

“Watch it frog…”

“Dinner’s about ready anyway.”

Taking his hint, I sat back at the table. The aroma was incredible. The presentation was incredible. I had never seen food made quite like it, especially not from a man (and a noble at that!) Whilst we ate in complete tranquillity, the rain pounded on the kitchen windows, as if trying to break into our cosy little world. The clouds hung low and heavy, their sombre nature adding a sense of foreboding.

“Looks like this rain isn’t holding up…”

“Do you think it’s a storm?”

His voice was quieter, weaker. It troubled me. Meanwhile the winds moaned and whistled in its haunting way. It certainly didn’t seem like the weather was going to ease up any time soon.

“Looks like I will be caught in a tempest when I return home…”

“No! You’re not walking home in such weather Monsieur Kirkland!”

I raised my brow.

“I’m a grown man, I think I can handle calling a carriage thank you very much.”

“A carriage? In this weather? Lunacy!”

“Well what do you suppose? I just stay here!?”

Eyes like daggers, we appeared poised to duel, but no such thing happened. Instead, after our long dinner (which had included a lengthy discussion about how worried my mother was going to be when I failed to return…), Francis was showing me to a guest room. The wind was weaponizing the trees now: the weather itself seemed armed for an attack against the manor. Like swords, branches slashed at the body of the house with great violence. I anticipated thunder any time soon. Perhaps the eye of the storm was still too far away.

I asked for books to pass the time, but the only books he had were in his native tongue. Nevertheless, I tried to read. Francis however seemed quite agitated. He kept busying himself with pointless tasks, offering beverages and games of chess. I gave in. Not like I could read this French rubbish anyway…

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Playing chess. That’s what you wanted right?”

“You left my favourite book…”

I viewed the cover.

“La belle et la bête?”

He nodded.

“What does it mean?”

“You don’t have enough French knowledge to translate the title? What tutors did you have?”

“None. My mother didn’t get me a tutor for French.”

Dramatically, he put his hand to his chest.

“I am heartbroken! I must teach you right away!”

“French?! Now?!”

“Oui! It is of utmost importance!”

“But what about chess?”

“Bah! What about chess? I want to teach you the language of love!”

Of love? He couldn’t be serious… French was just… well… pointless! And why did that set my heartbeat out of balance once again! It was just a proposal for French lessons!

“Arthur?”

“Erm… what?”

“Would you like to get started?”

“Oh yes! Yes yes yes! Do begin!”

He tried first to teach me greetings. All was going fine thus far, but I was struggling with one word in particular.

“Say ‘bonjour’!”

“Bon jaw?”

“No!” He sighed, “why is this so hard for you…?”

I shrugged. It was just unnatural for me, but I couldn’t say that.

“Ok, watch my mouth when I’m saying it. And just copy.”

I obeyed, but I couldn’t register what he was saying. Staring at those lips… there was that annoying heartbeat again! Curse its irregularity!

“Arthur? You haven’t said anything.”

“Haven’t I? I’m sorry.”

He sat and waited but still nothing came out. Couldn’t I even speak now? What was with this insane pressure…?

“B…bonjour?”

“Finally! Très bien!” He squished my cheeks together roughly like I was a child and I instinctively shoved him away. He was so annoying! I felt frustrated with his behaviour, but my eyes kept straying from his eyes to his lips whenever I contemplated punching that irritating face…

“I think it’s about time to go to bed…”

And with that I left for the guest room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these next two are so short!

What was this?

I lay on the soft mattress of the bed I had been given, head smothered between plump pillows. That question repeated itself in my head over and over again. What was this? This feeling…

And why on earth was I thinking about kissing him?

This wasn’t friendship: not as I had read it. Was I falling for Francis?

Impossible! I’d known the man for mere weeks! Although I suppose that wasn’t necessarily true… I buried my head deeper in the pillows, tortured by the lack of sense I was able

to make from all of this sudden feeling. I never had this feeling when I was a child surely. What a fucking mess I was…

I’m not in love. 

Nobody falls in love that quickly! I suppose there were those people who decided to marry just from their first glance at one another… No. Not me. I’ll get over this within another week.

Or would I? What if it wasn’t a phase? God what I’m being incredibly obvious…? Does he know?

No. I’m not that careless.

"I’d better get ready for bed…" I muttered to myself.

I stripped to my undergarments and climbed under the covers, still preoccupied by my thoughts. Was Francis doing the same right now? Stop it! Stop thinking about him!

I wrapped my arms around the pillows and shut my eyes tight. Before long, I was asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Fireflies. Inky skies. Ensnared in the shadows the trees cast. Alone, and feeling it more than ever.

Salty tears ran down my freckled cheeks. I could taste them. I could see my inundated lashes in my clouded vision. My face was buried in something. My knees? Drawn up so I sat like a cocoon. 

Where was I? It smelt like the woods, but it didn’t look like the woods I recognised. 

Oh. That’s right. I was lost.

Why did father have to leave?

More tears, even more confusion. My infantile mind couldn’t stand it. It was all so difficult.

I pulled clumps of grass out of the soil. I wished someone would save me from this…

“Arthur…?”

He approached cautiously, but he didn’t need to.

“Arthur, are you ok? I’ve come to take you home now.”

He stepped closer, hand outstretched. I didn’t want his hand. I wanted my father back. I wanted things to make sense again.

Pulled into a tight hug, I cried even harder. I felt a hand on my head, gently stroking my hair. I gripped onto his clothes, buried my little head in his chest. It wasn’t long before I was lifted and carried out into the clearing. 

“Francis…”


End file.
